The Path of the Storm (44 page)

It was a pile of corpses, too many of them to count, with one body thrown on top of the other from above until they'd formed this huge mound. Miro heard voices, and both he and Amber shrank back against the wall.

"Ready. Heave!"

A body flew through the air to land on top of the mound. Miro saw two robed figures on the edge of the gully, dusting their hands on their garments.

"Come on, let's get the next."

"Why do we have to do this?"

"Renrik's orders. These draugar have decayed too much in this heat. Now we're moving faster we're not going to process any more bodies until we reach Emirald. There'll be plenty of fresh bodies after we take the city."

"Yes, but why do we have to throw them in the gully?"

"Where else would you put them?"

"Just leave them where they are."

The other man snorted. "That's disgusting."

"After everything I've seen you do, you're calling me disgusting?"

The voices trailed off.

Miro quickly took Amber's hand and led her in the direction of the mound. He tried not to look at the bodies as they passed but as they skirted to the side he couldn't help it.

These were the revenants too decayed to fight on. In the pile were Gokani and Nareans, barbarians and Veldrins. Miro knew the sight would haunt him to the end of his days.

"Who's that down there?" a voice called from above.

"One of them's still alive!"

"You fool! We checked them all. None of them could still be alive. It must be someone else. Raise the alarm!"

Miro knew the time for caution was gone. He grabbed Amber's hand and started to run.

Behind them, Miro heard a commotion as warriors were called forward to the chase. He put on a burst of extra speed and felt Amber stumble behind him.

Miro now had to put his faith in the terrain. The steep drop from above provided protection, but his greatest concern was that the enemy were pacing them. He would soon find out when the ravine ended.

He ran until his legs felt like they were on fire and Amber begged him to stop. Their breathing was laboured and their foreheads dripped with sweat, but still they ran on.

Miro and Amber followed the riverbed as the canyon veered right, and then back left again. Suddenly the walls dropped away as the gully became shallower. They were reaching the end.

Miro pulled up short, his hand on his sword. Panting, he scanned the trees at the gully's end, where the stream continued to wander with gentle banks to both sides. For now, they were alone.

"Look," Amber panted, her chest heaving as she pointed.

The sun was rising. The sun rose in the east, which meant they were facing south.

"We made it. We're ahead of the army."

"Now we just need to find the road," Miro said. "Come on, there's a hill up there. We'll keep our heads down, but we'll find the road. It's time for speed above all else now."

By midday they'd joined the road, and by afternoon they could see hills and spires ahead. Miro recognised the rising tiers of Emirald, with the domes and towers of the Emir's palace a rose and turquoise crown above it all.

The road was deserted; all of the refugees had long departed this area.

The Lord of the Night's great army was behind them, and Emirald lay ahead.

43

R
OGAN
Jarvish stood high on the balcony, overlooking Imperial Square, and wondered where it had all gone wrong.

Days ago the crowd below had started as a mob, but now it was a seething mass of people, an ocean of figures as far as the eye could see in all directions. They were pressed up against the gates of the Imperial Palace and filled the Grand Boulevard from one side to the other. Most of all, they thronged Imperial Square, where from this very balcony the Emperors of the past had given speeches both grand and sinister.

Now, Rogan could only look on as the packed citizens of Seranthia heaved and cried out, rolling and pushing as they gathered together in united frustration.

Rogan still didn't know if he'd done the right thing when he'd told the people the truth about the Evermen. He'd always believed in truth; that open eyes see the clearest, and that once caught in a lie, never again could you earn the people's trust.

But try as he might, Rogan had never managed to earn the people of Seranthia's trust. The Tingaran soldiers followed him, and Rogan knew he had their respect, if not their love, but to the common people he was an Alturan oppressor. His words of honesty and empathy spoke to their minds, but not their hearts. Words couldn't fill stomachs, nor could they restore a great nation's pride.

Down below, Rogan saw the troublemaking mason, Bastian, standing on top of a wagon and exhorting the crowd to greater frenzy. His words were lost, but he pointed frequently at the balcony where Rogan stood, and shook his fist as the crowd roared in anger.

"Are you going to speak to them?" Amelia asked behind him.

"What can I say?"

"Take back what you said about the Evermen."

"How can I do that? It would be a lie, and they wouldn't believe anything I said again."

"They don't have anything else," Amelia said. "They need something to believe in."

"And food in their stomachs," Rogan said. "The Empire's coffers are empty, and the harvest came up short. What can I do?"

"Maybe we should just go home."

Rogan turned away from the balcony and moved inside, holding Amelia by the arm and bringing her with him. "Will you go? Please, Amelia. Tapel will be safer, and I will feel better knowing you're far from here."

"You stubborn man. What good can you do by staying?"

"If I leave now, the Empire is doomed. I can't let that happen. Someone like Bastian will take charge in the void, and Tingara will do what it thinks it needs to do, what Tingara has done in the past when in need of resources."

"And what's that?"

"I've kept the Tingaran army whole. The last thing the city needs is more men without jobs. What would you do, if you had a strong army and little else? They'll go to war, Amelia. With Aynar, or Torakon, it doesn't matter who. When there are too many people competing for too few resources, men fight. The battles whittle down the numbers, and to the victors go the spoils. The rest die." Rogan said the last word with finality.

"Does it matter, if we're safe in Halaran, or Altura?" Amelia asked.

"Yes, it matters! I won't have all that blood on my hands."

"But you said it yourself. There are too many people competing for not enough food, and too little work. How are you going to solve that problem? If you don't know how, then you should at least save yourself."

"Evrin Evenstar…" Rogan began.

"…is working on the machines as we speak. I know that, Rogan. You've said it more times than I can count. In the meantime, the people of Seranthia need something to believe in, and now they don't have the Evermen, they no longer have any faith. The people of Seranthia need a sign. Give them something."

"What do I give them? An enemy to fight? How do you fight hunger? A higher power to pray to? I don't know what to believe myself!"

"Give them hope," Amelia said softly.

Rogan suddenly punched the wall, heedless of the hard stone bruising his knuckles. "I don't know how!" he roared. "I'm a soldier, not even a noble. But no one else is willing to take this burden from my shoulders. If you have an idea for me woman, than tell it to me!"

Amelia's eyes filled with sorrow as she reached forward and squeezed Rogan's shoulder. "You'll think of something," she said. "You always do."

She turned and left Rogan alone, knowing his moods. He sat down on a chair and put his head in his hands, while the roaring crowd outside drove home his sense of impotence.

He had to think of something.

"Damn you, Miro," Rogan said. "You wanted to tell them, so why aren't you here now?"

They were angry now, but soon they would turn violent.

44

T
HE LARGEST
harbour in the world was filled with ships. The Emir had recalled his warships and merchantmen, galleons and caravels, so that vessels crammed the port of Emirald, and a person could walk from one end of the docks to the other by clambering from one deck to the next.

The ships had emptied their crews — the coming battle would be fought on land, not on the sea. Sailors were hastily formed into military units and many of the mighty cannon were taken from the warships and put up on the walls, facing north.

The enemy would soon be here.

Built on a hillside overlooking the water, the city of Emirald had only two faces: the harbour, where twin arms of wood and stone enclosed the Emir's floating pride in their protective embrace; and the walls. The city faced the harbour, the palace faced the harbour, and the houses of the city's residents faced the harbour. Only the poor lived in small houses on the rear of the hillside, where they couldn't see the water.

The walls had been added to the landward side of the city nearly as an afterthought.

But they were strong walls, thick rather than tall, and soon they would be the only defence against the horde.

Unlike Wengwai, Emirald wasn't built in concentric circles, with a series of inner walls to fall back to. Crowning the city with ivory towers and glorious domes, the Emir's palace had been designed with beauty in mind, rather than safety. The Emir's navy had always been all the protection Emirald's citizens needed, and the nations of Gokan and Narea in the north had always been an effective buffer against the barbarian horde. The landward walls had been built because… well… a city should have walls.

Now these walls were lined with soldiers, all staring grimly north.

Like ants swarming at an object of desire, the horde could now be seen from the heights of the palace. Those gazing out initially didn't believe their eyes. Surely no army could be this big. Where were the supply trains? How were they feeding so many men?

A new order was circulated throughout the city. Without exception, every male between the age of fourteen and sixty was commanded to join those at the walls.

Cannon were readied and checked, sighted and prepared. Buckets of water were taken to the walls, and countless huge jugs were placed on coals, the smell of heating pitch filling the air. Pole-arms were placed on every corner of the walls, ready to push away the enemy's scaling ladders.

The Emir stripped his palace of his elite personal guard and sent them to join the other defenders. He now looked at the harbour. It was mid-morning, and the sun was climbing the sky over the sea, glistening on the water.

The pride he'd once felt at seeing his two hundred warships now tasted like ashes in his mouth. His naval might was powerless against this foe.

Turning away from the harbour and moving to watch the battle on the city's other side Emir Volkan saw his doom unfold. The horde came ever onwards, and would now likely be visible to the men on the walls. Volkan knew how his men must be feeling, for he felt it himself. There were simply so many of them. How could they ever hold?

He'd sent messengers to talk to whoever commanded this force and discuss terms. None had returned.

The refugees who poured down from the north carried wild stories, none of which made sense. They spoke of barbarian warriors who could not be killed, and a leader in black who could rise into the air. Emir Volkan wished he knew what he could believe.

He frowned when he saw two distant figures running towards the walls.

~

W
ITH
the revenant army close on their heels, Miro and Amber ran for the walls of Emirald in one mad dash. As fast as they'd been moving, the enemy had still moved faster. They hadn't realised the army was gaining ground on them until the thunder of footsteps filled the air,

As the city grew in Miro's vision he saw that the wide gates were sealed shut. Soldiers stared down at him from the walls, which bristled with spears, muskets and longbows. Cannon peeked out from behind the battlements, ready to rain destruction on those below. There were more defenders than Miro had seen on the walls at Wengwai, but the walls there had been taller, and the Gokani had possessed many more cannon.

The Lord of the Night's army would have grown since the fall of Wengwai. The Gokani dead had been added to their numbers, and northern Veldria had also been ravaged. Miro saw nothing that would stop Sentar from taking this city.

Miro stopped when he saw the gates stay shut, his chest heaving as he looked up at the grim faces of the soldiers. Amber placed her hands on her hips, her breath coming in gasps.

"Please!" Miro shouted, cupping his hands to his mouth. "Let us in!"

An officer came to the front, pushing through the men occupying the battlements above the gates. He called down to Miro. "We can't open the gates. They've been sealed, and wooden stocks now hold them from behind. Leave this area!"

"I need to speak with the Emir!"

"And why would the Emir want to speak to you?"

"He knows me. Send word. Tell him Miro from Altura is here. Tell him I have important information about the enemy."

The officer disappeared, and Miro prayed he wasn't simply being ignored.

The ground trembled behind them as the enemy came on. It was mid-morning, and Sentar was in a hurry. Would he pause before attacking, and again give a display of his power to the defenders? Or would he simply attack with everything he had?

"Hurry!" Miro called up at the walls.

Miro tried to put himself in the mind of Sentar Scythran. The Emir's ships were within his grasp. He had his indomitable army, and across the expanse of the ocean the Empire was weak, barely holding together.

Miro realised how desperately he needed to warn the Empire about what was ahead. The greatest threat of all would come across the sea, and unless they were prepared, this remorseless foe would gain a foothold in Altura and continue the cycle of death and destruction. Miro's people would be added to the revenant army, and then the people of Halaran, and the process would continue all the way to Tingara itself.